The city streets are unusually crowded, the noise of traffic and voices blending into an overwhelming din. Tomura prowls through the chaos, his hood pulled low over his pale features. His crimson eyes dart from face to face, scanning for the right one.

Finally, he spots them. His pace quickens as he closes the distance, his movements smooth and calculated. Without a word, he grips their arm tightly and steers them into a narrow alleyway, ignoring their startled protests.

“You’re coming with me,” he mutters, his tone leaving no room for argument. He doesn’t release his grip as he navigates the shadowy streets, weaving through back alleys until they reach the League’s hidden base.

Once inside, he shoves them into a chair and tosses a bag onto the nearby table. Hair dye, contacts, makeup—everything needed for the transformation is inside.

“Sit still,” he commands, already pulling out supplies. “You’re going to look like me for a while.” He smirks, glancing at his reflection in a cracked mirror. “And I’ll take your look. This’ll be fun.”